The Morning After
by Leigh2
Summary: Chandler and Monica get drunk. Angst ensues.
1. Chapter One

Author's Note: The setting of this is mid to late season 3, after Janice, before Pete, and during the whole Ross and Rachel break-up saga. There are adult situations alluded to, so if you're a kid… well, you've been warned.  
  
---

  
  
In the stillness of early morning, the room was in an unusual state of disarray.  
  
The throw rug near the doorway was caught under it and twisted, as though the door had been slammed blindly shut. A trail of clothing led from the rug to the queen-sized bed: a blouse, a t-shirt, boxer shorts, a black skirt against the dresser, and a lacy red bra dangling from the bedpost.  
  
On the nightstand was an overturned bottle of vodka and an empty box of condoms, dug from the top drawer frantically hours earlier - magazines, a case of batteries, and other miscellaneous junk littered the floor, and the drawer itself was half hanging from its hinges.  
  
The bedclothes, expect for a thin sheet, were rumpled and pushed down to the foot of the bed, and two forms lay prone on the pile of pillows near the headboard. The woman shivered - stirred in her sleep and tugged more of the sheet around her - but slept soundly.  
  
The man awoke slowly as grey light filtered through the blinds.  
  
He groaned softly and lifted one shaky hand to cover his eyes. Pain jackhammered his skull with every heartbeat, and he breathed shallowly through dry lips, fighting an uneasy wave of nausea. His tongue was like cotton.  
  
He felt like crap.  
  
Gradually, he grew conscious enough to realize he was not in his own bed - he was somewhere else. He caught the faint scent of perfume in the air, and the light against his eyelids was coming from the wrong direction.  
  
"Oh, god… what did you do," he mumbled to himself, attempting to open his eyes and then thinking better of it. He knew there was someone in the bed with him - he could feel her presence, and just barely distinguish her soft breathing - but he was too afraid to turn his head and see who it was.  
  
He waited it out, counting steadily in his head. He was up to two hundred fifty-nine before he gathered the courage - and the stamina - to lift his hand away from his eyes, and open them.  
  
Squinting, he grimaced as his head throbbed against the sudden light. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and stared at the ceiling.  
  
He knew this ceiling.

He'd lay awake staring at it only a week ago, in fact, the night when Ross and Rachel's world had shattered just outside the bedroom door.  
  
Monica… oh, not Monica…  
  
Biting his lip, he turned his head to the right, and saw a lock of dark hair sticking out from underneath a pillow. Her slender form was visible underneath the nearly transparent sheet, and as he stared at her with his heart somewhere around his stomach, she sighed softly and mumbled something in her sleep.  
  
"No, no, no, no, no," he moaned, rolling his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. This had to be a nightmare. Just a nightmare.  
  
Why Monica? God, of all people, why did it have to be her?  
  
Despite the hangover, his instincts were finally starting to kick in, as he slipped into 'fight or flight' mode. And since he was Chandler… basically just flight mode.  
  
He had to get out of here.  
  
Against his better judgment, he sat up, gritting his teeth against the jackhammer in his skull. He fought another wave of nausea and slung his legs over the side of the bed, blinking and realizing he had no idea where his clothes were.  
  
He'd wear her robe out of here if he had to.  
  
The room swam in and out of focus as he got to his feet, stumbling slowly around the bed until he spotted his boxers half-buried underneath a woman's white silk blouse.  
  
She'd been wearing that yesterday…  
  
"Stop it," he mumbled, putting on the boxers and then finding his t-shirt beside her nightstand. As he yanked it over his head, his eyes fell on the open box of condoms on the bedside table. He froze for a moment, then shook his head slowly and began to back away… just as his foot slipped on the crumpled rug beneath him. He skidded and fell back, managing to catch himself on the door with a loud THUMP.  
  
The pain in his head intensified a hundredfold. Briefly, he didn't care where he was or what had happened. He just needed to sit down, or… pass out. Or die, maybe.  
  
He sank down to the floor, back up against the door as he buried his head in his hands and silently pleaded with himself not to throw up.  
  
When he finally had himself under control again and managed to lift his head, she was awake and staring straight at him. Her blue eyes were wide in the pale light of dawn.  
  
Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and she spoke in a raspy voice. "Chandler?" she said dully. Either she was so out of it she didn't even believe he was there, or she all too clearly remembered what had happened the night before.  
  
He stared back at her uncertainly.  
  
Her throat worked as she swallowed. "I feel sick," she finally managed.  
  
He hoped she meant the hangover, and not him, although it was probably a toss-up.  
  
"I think our drinking game got a little out of hand last night, if the bottle on the nightstand… and the one on the dresser… and the beer cans which I'm sure are still out on the balcony… are any indication."  
  
To bad that was about all he remembered. He and Monica, sitting out on the balcony and getting drunk, and then deciding to come in here and get completely wasted… and apparently a little too friendly...  
  
He didn't even remember kissing her. Life was full of little ironies, but that one just about took the cake. He'd dreamed about her like this, once in awhile, since he was twenty years old. And now that it had finally happened…  
  
It had happened like this.  
  
Monica struggled slowly to a sitting position, her dark hair falling like a curtain around her face as she clutched the sheet to her chest.  
  
She made a whimpering noise and leaned forward slowly. "Yeah… I'll say it got out of hand…" she muttered as she leaned her face against her hands. "We slept together, didn't we."  
  
"Uh…it's looking more and more like we did, yeah."  
  
"I don't really remember."  
  
He grimaced. "Neither do I."  
  
She took several deep breaths, then lifted her head to look at him again. "Are you okay?" she said finally. "You fell…"  
  
"I'm fine. I tripped." For some reason he was embarrassed about this - as if what he'd done last night wasn't bad enough.  
  
"You were leaving," she stated.  
  
"Uh…" He found himself avoiding his eyes. "Yeah… I, I was. Mon…"  
  
"No… no. It's fine." She sighed. A strange, awkward silence fell over the room.  
  
"I should - I should go," he finally said. "Before Rachel gets up, you know…"  
  
"Yeah. Okay." She wasn't looking at him anymore; her gaze was directed down at her lap, and she nodded her head up and down. "Listen, we should just… keep this to ourselves, you know?"  
  
"Yeah, of course," he said quickly, getting to his feet again and putting his hand around the doorknob, jiggling it nervously. "I… it was just…"  
  
"A mistake," she said, nodding quicker now, as though it had all been decided. "A stupid, drunken mistake."  
  
He smiled weakly, but inside his heart thudded dully in his chest, and a strange sense of longing passed over him. "Right," he said. "Okay. I'm gonna go… take a shower, take some pills… sleep for about ten more hours."  
  
She smiled tightly. "Me too. Maybe throw up a little, too."  
  
"Do you want me to bring you anything, or…?"  
  
"No. Just go." She sounded short with him now, her words clipped and edgy, and she still didn't look at him.  
  
Everything's ruined, he realized dismally. How can it all be ruined?  
  
He nodded numbly, mumbled something inaudible, and then turned and let himself out of the bedroom.  
  
Two minutes later he slipped quietly into his own room, lay down on the bed, and buried his face in his hands. And across the hall, Monica curled up under the sheet and impatiently wiped away the hot tears that leaked from the corners of her eyes.  
  
A drunken mistake...  
  
Little did either of them know, it was already far too late for it to be just that.  
  
---  
  
Hope you liked. Feel free to review! 


	2. Chapter Two

"… so Phoebe was telling me that there's absolutely no way she's going along with this marriage thing," Rachel was saying, leaning against the counter of the Moondance Diner as she ate her lunch. "So I don't know what she's going to do. I think it's weird, but if it's true love, you know, what are ya gonna do? They're both adults – in the eyes of the law, anyway. There isn't much she _can _do at this point, right?"  
  
Monica rubbed her hand over her eyes and nodded wearily. "Um, yeah," she mumbled, even though she hadn't really been listening.  
  
Rachel stopped chewing, realizing for the first time that she'd pretty much been talking to herself. "Monica, what is the matter with you lately?" she demanded, not unkindly. "You've been so spaced out. Are you okay?"  
  
Monica straightened up, giving her a look. "I'm fine," she said. "Just tired."  
  
Rachel frowned. "How can you be tired? You've started taking mid- afternoon naps. Honey, I think you might be sick or something. Have you gone to see the doctor?"  
  
"No," Monica said firmly. "Rach, I'm fine. I'm just… its cabin fever or something, I don't know. I'm sure I'll be back to normal in a few days."  
  
"Okay…" Rachel said doubtfully.  
  
The man on the stool next to her cleared his throat. "Hey, Monica, can I get another soda?"  
  
Monica glanced up, giving him a smile. "Sure, Pete," she said. "What'd you have? Diet Coke, right?"  
  
"Right." Pete watched her carefully as she turned and filled his glass again. "You know, your friend is right. You don't look so hot."  
  
She set the glass down in front of him with a disbelieving look. "Well, thanks," she said. "Tell me how you really feel."  
  
Pete looked apologetic. "I just mean, you haven't been yourself for the past few days," he said.  
  
Rachel pointed her pickle at him and nodded. "I don't know who he is, Mon, but he's absolutely right," she said succinctly.  
  
He smiled. "Pete Becker," he said, offering his hand for a shake, which she took gamely.  
  
"I'm Rachel Green, Monica's roommate."  
  
"Nice to meet you, Rachel."  
  
Monica raised her eyebrows at them. "Well, now that you're officially introduced, maybe you'll find something better to talk about than my health, huh?"  
  
"I'm going to make you see a doctor in a few days if you aren't back to normal," Rachel replied, raising her eyebrows right back.  
  
"She's my roommate _and_ my keeper," Monica explained to Pete, who smiled wryly.  
  
"I'm serious, Mon."  
  
"Okay, Rach. Fine. But I promise you, I won't be needing any trips to the doctor's office, alright?" Monica noticed the light above the counter blinking. "Now in the meantime, if you'll excuse me, I've got a job to do. Order up," she called, and officially ended the conversation.  
  
---  
  
The phone was ringing as Chandler let himself into the apartment after work, and he tossed his keys onto the counter and grabbed it.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hey, man," Joey's voice filtered down the line. "You just get in?"  
  
"Yeah, just now." Chandler leaned against the counter. "What's up?"  
  
"I'm not going to be able to make dinner tonight, so can you tell Mon? I got a call back for this audition."  
  
"Hey, the commercial? That's great."  
  
"Thanks. Yeah, anyway I should be back kinda late, so just tell Mon to save me something."  
  
Chandler glanced toward the door, closing his eyes briefly. "Sure," he said. "Sure, no problem. Good luck, Joe."  
  
"I'll need it. See ya."  
  
He hung up, and Chandler slowly put the phone down, casting another long look in the direction of Monica and Rachel's apartment. His shoulders slumped, and he sighed heavily.  
  
It had been nearly three weeks since The Night. He'd come to think of it in capital letters, since it was probably one of the most monumentally stupid things he'd ever done – and that was saying something.  
  
Things had been awkward ever since – to say the least. Monica avoided him now, and he found himself hanging out in her apartment less and less. They weren't all-out ignoring each other, but things were definitely strained between them, and quite frankly… it sucked.  
  
He missed her. He missed having her as his friend.  
  
Every time he'd thought about going next door and talking to her about this privately – just clearing the air, and trying to put it behind them – he lost his nerve. But now Joey had given him the perfect excuse to go talk to her. 

  
"Now or never, man," he muttered, squaring his shoulders and marching across the hall, giving only a cursory knock on the door before walking inside her apartment.  
  
At first glance it seemed to be empty, but then he noticed her bedroom door was ajar, and there was soft music coming from inside. He stared nervously toward her room, then made himself walk forward.  
  
"Mon?" he called, then cleared his throat and said more loudly, "Monica? You here?"  
  
After a moment, the radio snapped off, and she appeared in the doorway. She was wearing sweat pants and a t-shirt, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She looked tired.  
  
Her eyes were wide – she was just as surprised as he was that he'd actually come over. "Uh, hi," she said slowly. "What's up?"  
  
"I came over to… give you a message. From Joey. He can't make it to dinner tonight."  
  
"Oh." She nodded slowly, still staring at him. As he met her eyes, she flushed and abruptly looked away. "Well, okay, I'll be sure to… save him some."  
  
He looked at her for a long moment, then sighed and abruptly raked a hand through his hair. "Monica…" he began, frustrated.  
  
"I don't want to talk about this," she warned in a low voice, looking back up at him.  
  
"I know. You've been avoiding me for days. You really think I want to talk about it either? Look, it doesn't matter, Mon, because we _have _to. This isn't… this isn't how I want things to be, with you and me. You're my friend. I miss you."  
  
Her eyes filled with tears, but she brushed them away impatiently. "I know. I do, too. But we can't go back."  
  
"Why not?" he asked, his voice rising. "It was just a mistake. You said that yourself. So we'll put it behind us and we'll move on."

  
She was shaking her head. "But it did happen," she said. "We crossed the line, Chandler. And… I can't look at you, or be around you anymore, without _thinking _about it."  
  
He flinched. "Monica, come on," he said, hating the pleading note in his voice. "It was just one night. It was just sex. I'm sorry that it happened, and if I could take it back, if I could go back and change it god knows I would, but there's nothing I can do about that. It's over and it's done. Why are you being like this?" A thought occurred to him suddenly, and he looked up at her in shock. "Do you blame me?"  
  
When she didn't say anything right away, looking away over his shoulder someplace, he inhaled sharply and took a step back. "You do," he realized, stunned. "You blame me for what happened."  
  
"No… I…" She shook her head slowly, looking suddenly exhausted as she leaned against the doorframe. "It takes two," she said finally. "We were both there that night. I blame you as much as myself."  
  
"Then why… why are you being like this? Why won't you talk to me about it?"  
  
She was quiet for a long moment, staring at the ground and moving her foot back and forth along the floor. When she finally spoke, her voice was so soft he barely heard. "I'm late."  
  
"What?" he asked, not understanding.  
  
"I'm late, Chandler. My period is late."  
  
---  
  
To be continued shortly… thanks for the reviews! 


	3. Chapter Three

Author's note: Thank you for the kind reviews! (What, predictable? This? LOL…) Just a note to the readers: if you can remember what Chandler acted like when he'd had "a million" cups of coffee in the season one episode where he breaks up with Janice, that's what I'm going for in part of this chapter. It's hard to describe, but it's funny as hell on TV! Hope you like.  
  
---

  
  
She was quiet for a long moment, staring at the ground and moving her foot back and forth along the floor. When she finally spoke, her voice was so soft he barely heard. "I'm late."  
  
"What?" he asked, not understanding.  
  
"I'm late, Chandler. My period is late."  
  
When he didn't respond, she chanced a look up at him, and saw that his face had paled considerably.

  
"Chandler?" she asked quietly.  
  
"How late?" he finally asked, avoiding her eyes.  
  
She swallowed. "Uh, about a week."  
  
He scrubbed his hands over his face, then gave her a disbelieving look. "You… you think that you're…"  
  
"Maybe." She hugged her arms around herself and looked away. "I bought a test, but I haven't gotten up the nerve to take it yet."  
  
He nodded slowly, than stumbled backwards until he hit the chair. He sank onto the back of it and stared at her. "So were you just never going to tell me?"  
  
"I don't know, okay?" Monica wiped away tears that she hadn't even realized she was crying. "God, Chandler, these last few weeks have been so… upside-down… and now this; I don't even know what to do anymore! I don't know if I'm actually pregnant, or if this is all just because I've been so stressed out, or…" She trailed off, gesturing helplessly.  
  
Part of him wanted to put his arms around her, to hold her until she stopped crying and tell her that everything was going to be okay. The other part was scared to death, holding him right where he was. He cast around for something to say, finally falling back on his tried-and-true defense mechanism: humor.  
  
"Maybe we should have just played a few rounds of Scrabble that night," he said weakly.  
  
"Chandler…" Amazingly, he'd gotten her to smile, if only fleetingly. She sighed and brushed away the remainder of her tears.  
  
"You said you bought a test," he said, fidgeting nervously.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Maybe you should… take it now."  
  
"Now?" She sounded incredulous.  
  
"Yeah. Why not?" He gave a short laugh. "I mean… at least then we'll know if freaking out is justifiable, or if it's all just been a false alarm."  
  
Her hands shook slightly as she clasped them in front of her and stared at him. "You want me to take it now. You're telling me that you're ready to hear that I'm pregnant, that you'll be a dad in nine months like it or not, that our lives are changed forever--"  
  
"Oh my god," he said, annoyed. He lurched up suddenly and began pacing, hands deep in his pockets. "No, I'm not ready for any of that. But I sure as hell don't want to be walking around on pins and needles _not _knowing. You think either of us isn't sleeping now? Wait a few weeks and we'll both be certifiable."  
  
His voice had been rising, and the sudden show of temper caused her own to flare. "Fine, that's what you want? Really? Okay, I'll take the damn test! Just don't come _crying _to me when it doesn't give you the answer you want." She stomped back into her bedroom.

  
He ran his hands through his hair and took deep breaths, trying to calm down and failing miserably. After a moment, he turned around and walked over to the door, bolting it and then banging his head against it repetitively.  
  
God, he needed a cigarette.  
  
Monica came out of her room and headed straight for the bathroom, not looking at him. The little box in her hand made him nervous, and he suddenly wished he hadn't been quite so insistent.  
  
"So, what, you just pee on the stick and see which color it turns?" he called after her, his voice cracking slightly. As he moved back a step, he banged into the coat rack beside the door, which wobbled precariously before he caught it.  
  
"You were expecting something more complicated?" She paused by the bathroom doorway and eyed him with trepidation. He was shifting into full 'Chandler' mode, exuding nervous energy and fidgeting continuously. She recognized the symptoms; he must be absolutely terrified. Good.   
  
"Would you stop moving around like that, you look like a marionette." With one final glare, she turned and disappeared into the bathroom.  
  
He chewed his lip nervously and tapped away the seconds. After almost a full minute of silence, he couldn't take it any longer. Raising his voice, he called in the direction of the bathroom, "Are you taking it now?"  
  
"I'm giving myself a facial first," she snapped, her voice muffled by the door. "What do you think?"  
  
Her sarcasm barely registered.  
  
"Hey, what, uh, what does each color mean? I mean, how will you know if it's positive or negative?" He moved around the apartment restlessly before finally jumping onto the counter, long legs swinging back and forth.  
  
There was a long pause during which he came to the conclusion that she was ignoring him, and then the toilet flushed. "We have to wait five minutes," she called reluctantly, and he opened his mouth in a wordless scream of impatience, then jumped down and fairly ran to the bathroom door.  
  
"Five minutes?! We can send people to the moon and blow whole cities off the map with one press of a button, but it takes five minutes for this to work? You gotta be kidding me."  
  
She flung open the door, glaring at him. "Chandler, would you please just not talk for the next few minutes? Or better yet, go to your own apartment?"

  
"Gee, Monica. I wish you'd told me to buzz off three weeks ago when I came over," he said sarcastically.  
  
"That makes two of us." She brushed past him and walked over to the sofa, sitting down and crossing her legs calmly. He watched her nervously, then began pacing around the apartment, reaching out occasionally to fiddle with various objects.  
  
"How can you just sit there?" he finally demanded.  
  
"Well, since you're bouncing around here like a ping-pong ball on Prozac, I figured one of us should be calm."

  
"I'm fine," he said, demonstrating that he was absolutely not fine by shifting restlessly and glancing repeatedly at his watch. "Four minutes and seventeen seconds." He swallowed hard and then gave a little hop over the coffee table, sitting down on it across from her.  
  
She gave him a look. "Didn't I tell you to leave?"  
  
He didn't respond, instead glancing around the apartment and biting his lip. Finally, a tiny smile crossed his face, and he turned to stare at her.  
  
"What?" she asked, unnerved.  
  
"This," he said, gesturing back and forth. "Us. We're actually communicating again. It's nice."  
  
"Ohhh, yeah, this is so great," she said. "You know, we should get together more often and do this sort of thing." He had started tapping his fingers against the table and twitching again, and she eyed him carefully. "Do you need a sedative?"  
  
"Nah, I'm good." He drummed his fingers against the table one more time, then suddenly stopped and stared at her. "Monica."  
  
"What?" she asked warily.  
  
"What are we going to do if it's… you know… positive?"  
  
"Get married, of course."  
  
He stared at her until she leaned back against the couch and started giggling. 

  
"You're kidding," he stated, relieved.  
  
"Yeah, but you should have seen your face." She wiped at her eyes – this time they were tears of laughter – and glanced at her own watch. "Three minutes."  
  
He started shifting around again, looking a little pale. "Whatever it says, shouldn't we buy another one? Just to make sure? These things can be false, can't they?"  
  
"Looking for an 'out'?" she asked wryly. "I'm actually surprised you haven't thrown yourself off the balcony by now."  
  
He smiled grimly. "Part of me is still convinced this is a dream."  
  
"A nightmare?"  
  
He paused. "I'm not sure. Most dreams with you in them are good dreams. This is one I would have some issues with."  
  
Monica raised her eyebrows at him, trying to calm the butterflies in her stomach by focusing on something else. "You dream about me?"  
  
He groaned. "Don't go there. Not now."  
  
There was a long, painful silence, during which they could hear every tick of the clock on the wall as the second hand inched its way around.  
  
"How do we even begin to deal with this?" Monica finally asked. "We're not prepared. We're not involved, and we're both obsessive and neurotic. No way are we ready for this."  
  
"Speak for yourself, Monica. I'm obsessive, neurotic, immature _and_ needy." He glanced at his watch. "A minute forty."  
  
"This isn't how I planned for this at all, you know. Richard and I were supposed to get married, move to the suburbs, and have three kids starting when I was thirty. A boy, a girl, and another boy. Daniel, Emma and Jonathan."  
  
He gave her such a laconic look that she flushed and turned away.  
  
"This isn't my fantasy-come-true either, Mon," he said wryly. "But I'm not rubbing your face in it, am I? I was supposed to grow old lonely, childless and miserable. God damn it, I want my empty future back."  
  
"Shut up, Chandler," she sighed.  
  
"Sorry." He fidgeted until she looked at him pointedly, then reluctantly stopped and glanced at his watch again. "Fifty nine… fifty eight…"  
  
She sighed and covered her face with her hands. "This is so unbelievable," she murmured. "I mean, I can't even remember that night."  
  
"I know. Me either." He stared glumly at his hands.  
  
She sighed and gave him a serious look. "Chandler, are you going to flip out if it's positive?"  
  
"No. If it's positive I'm gonna go out and buy you fifteen more tests, and if all _those _are positive… well, maybe." He gave her a wry smile, but she didn't smile back, so he sighed. "I'll need some time for it to sink in. Okay? How's that?"

  
"I'm going to need a day or two, myself," she said softly.  
  
"If it's negative," he continued, "we'll call everyone we know and have a huge party. The theme can be, 'Condoms: Better Safe than Sorry.'"  
  
She looked at him suspiciously to make sure he was joking, and when he gave her a weak smile, she sighed again and reached out for his hand.  
  
"Even though you're obsessive and weird, Chandler," she said, "there's no one I'd rather be going through this with than you."  
  
He turned his hand over, carefully threading his fingers through her own and meeting her eyes with a sober expression. He'd finally stopped fidgeting, she noticed – he was absolutely still.  
  
"Me too," he finally said, his voice little above a whisper. "Me too."  
  
The second hand ticked away the last few moments as they shared a long look, both realizing the magnitude of what they were embarking on if the test was positive.  
  
Finally, she got up and walked into the bathroom without another word. He buried his face in his hands, realizing after long seconds of her silence that he already knew the answer.  
  
---  
  
To  
  
Be  
  
Continued… 


	4. Chapter Four

Author's Note: This one is a little shorter, more introspective. Hope you like. And thank you so very much for the reviews. Now, am I the only one who can't believe we have to wait till September…?  
  
---

  
  
Once upon a time, when she lived in a pink-and-white bedroom and still held tea parties for imaginary friends – and sometimes, Ross – she would sneak upstairs into the attic and spend hours going through the dusty old boxes her parents had long ago packed away. They were scribbled on with black magic marker, and when she pried them open the sight of the tiny jumpers and onesies nearly took her breath away. Her best friend Rachel had a new little sister, and so did another playmate down the street; and although all three of them oohed and ahhed over the tiny fingers and toes, and demanded a turn at holding and feeding with the bottle, it was Monica alone who remained enchanted for hours on end.  
  
Those natural maternal urges had carried over into her adulthood, and fueled a strong desire for a family of her own. But of all the ways she'd imagined it happening, during endless daydreaming and fantasies…  
  
She had never imagined this.  
  
---  
  
"Next week?" Chandler's voice filtered through the phone line. He sounded distracted, like he might be flipping through a calendar.  
  
"Wednesday. 11am. Is that okay?"  
  
"Yeah," he said. "I don't do anything around here anyway. Are you sure it shouldn't be sooner?"  
  
"No, it's fine." She pressed her fingers against her eyes, trying to keep another headache at bay as she reclined on the couch in her apartment. She wasn't sure whether they were brought about by the pregnancy or stress or what, but they were sapping her energy away daily.  
  
And so was Chandler.  
  
He had started treating her like the baby would, without warning, fall out of her at any moment. He was constantly hovering, fluffing pillows and pulling out chairs, and generally driving her crazy. Last night she'd come home with a sore back, and he'd jumped up to escort her into a chair, frowning disapprovingly.  
  
"Mon, I'm sorry if this makes me sound like a complete chauvinist pig, but there is no way the mother of my child is going to serve hamburgers and fries in a maternity waitress uniform and roller skates for eight hours a day! That can't be good for either of you, and I'm… I'm putting my foot down." Finished with his outburst, Chandler crossed his arms defiantly, but was unable to keep from cringing – for good reason.  
  
"You're 'putting your foot down?'" she repeated, one eyebrow climbing to her hairline. "Sorry to burst your bubble, Chandler, but this isn't some 1950's sitcom and you aren't my overbearing husband. Besides, I have apartment payments to make, bills to pay. I _need _a job, Chandler. And I'm not asking my parents for help."  
  
"I'll help," he countered. "That's what I'm here for."  
  
"No, no," she said, shaking her head. "C'mon, you don't make that much, and you already might as well write Joey off as a dependant on your taxes. I can't ask you to do this, too."  
  
"Oh, so what, exactly, _is _my role here?" he asked, placing his hands on his hips and staring down at her. "Giving birth? Oops, wait – missing a few anatomical necessities there. So basically for the next eight months I'm just going to be sitting on my ass while you're over there gestating – and guess what, I can write a few checks with all that free time, so _let_ me. I want to help. I need to help. That's my… my baby in there. Please."  
  
The way his voice caught when he said the word 'baby' was just about enough to melt her resolve into a puddle of goo. She'd relented, and put in her two week's notice that morning, much to the disappointment of one customer in particular: Pete Becker, who had become a regular within the last couple weeks and was always surprisingly solicitous around her.  
  
"Do you need me to bring you anything?" Chandler asked over the phone now, his voice unsure. With only three days of allowing the news to sink in, things were still awkward between them – but with no other option, they were adapting as best they could. "Ice cream? You said yesterday you wanted ice cream."  
  
"Ben and Jerry's," she said, wondering how long his 'anything you need, Mon, you got it' phase would last. "Surprise me."  
  
"No problem," he said, sounding relieved. "See you tonight, Mon."  
  
She hung up, then replaced the phone and stared thoughtfully into space. Finally her eyes came to rest on a framed photo on the end table beside her. Carefully, she reached out and picked it up, studying it with a strange sense of the passage of time. This photo had been taken only several years ago, but it felt like forever now.  
  
Ross had snapped it, shortly after Rachel moved in and they were all hanging out in Central Park one sunny fall afternoon. They'd set up camp on the ground near a Little League baseball game, spreading out blankets and a picnic of sorts, and after they'd eaten Phoebe and Joey had wandered off to toss a Frisbee back and forth while Rachel and Chandler remained behind with her. The three of them were propped up against a tree trunk and leaning against each other, Monica in the middle and surrounded by two of her best friends in the world. They looked young and relaxed and happy, like college kids without a care in the world.  
  
How things had changed, she thought ruefully. Just as she set the frame back down, she noticed something, and leaned forward for a closer look. What she saw made her pause, as the first surprising wave of longing rippled through her.  
  
Within the picture, Chandler's hand had come to rest against her own, fingers entwined in gentle possessiveness. 


	5. Chapter Five

At first she thought she'd lucked out as far as morning sickness went, but the morning of her first doctor's appointment, she found herself leaning miserably over the toilet bowl in the bathroom. She'd flipped the fan on as she ran in, but Rachel heard her anyway, and appeared in the doorway with a concerned, sleepy look on her face.  
  
"Mon? Honey, what's the matter, are you sick?" She hurried into the bathroom and knelt down beside her friend, as Monica gripped the cool porcelain and struggled to take deep breaths.  
  
"Water," she said shakily.  
  
Rachel stood up and filled a Dixie cup to the brim, then helped her take a few sips. Finally, Monica nodded and took the cup from her, standing slowly and resting a hand gingerly against her stomach.  
  
"What do you think it is?" Rachel asked worriedly. "Flu?"  
  
"Uh…" Monica carefully avoided her eyes, but made the mistake of glancing into the mirror. She grimaced in shock at her reflection. She'd been sleeping fitfully for days now, and her eyes were red-rimmed and smudged with shadows. She was pale from throwing up, and looked almost ghostly under the harsh light. "I don't know. Maybe food poisoning."  
  
Rachel filled another cup with fresh water, shaking her head. "Right," she said. "Food poisoning. Monica, obviously you haven't been well for a couple of weeks now. I told you I wanted you to see a doctor, and I mean it. I'm going to make you an appointment right now." She spun on her heel and marched out in the kitchen.  
  
"No! Rachel…" Monica stumbled after her, hoping her first bout of morning sickness was over as she chased her friend into the kitchen. "I'm fine. Please don't."  
  
Rachel already had the cordless phone in her hand, rifling through her purse for her own doctor's phone number. Monica snatched the phone away and shook her head.  
  
"Please," she repeated, meeting her friends' startled expression. "I already know what's wrong. And I have an appointment to see my doctor this afternoon."  
  
Rachel stared at her worriedly. "What? What's wrong?"  
  
Monica sighed. "I wasn't going to tell you… not for a few weeks yet. Rach, if I tell you this, will you please keep it to yourself for awhile? I'm just not ready for other people to know."  
  
Her friend was starting to look panicked. "Monica, is it bad news?" she murmured, her hand going to her mouth. "Are you… sick?"  
  
"No," Monica replied, shaking her head. She stared at the floor for a moment, gathering her nerve – then looked up and met Rachel's eyes. "I'm pregnant," she said softly.  
  
For a long moment, it wasn't clear whether Rachel had heard or registered what she had said. Finally, her eyes widened as the news started to sink in. "You're pregnant?" she asked. "Oh, my god… Monica…"  
  
"I know." Monica sighed and looked away.  
  
"How… how long have you known?"  
  
Not the first question she'd expected out of Rachel's mouth, but definitely an easier one. "I've suspected for about two weeks now. Known for sure since last week. And I'm four weeks along now, just about."  
  
"Wow," Rachel breathed. She chewed her lower lip, looking at Monica hesitantly. "Can you tell me… I mean, you haven't been seeing anyone, have you?"  
  
"No, it just takes one night, unfortunately." Monica reached out for her friend's hand. "Rach… promise me you won't tell anyone. Please. Not until it's the right time."  
  
"I won't tell." Rachel's eyes were as wide as a kid's in a toy shop. Monica stifled a smile despite the situation.  
  
"Okay, it's… someone you know. Really, really well."  
  
Rachel's mouth opened and closed for a moment. "Is it one of the guys?" she asked finally.  
  
Monica nodded, taking a deep breath. "Chandler," she said.  
  
Rachel's reaction was priceless – eyes widening to saucers, hands going to her mouth. "Chandler?" she finally squeaked, in a half-excited, half- shocked tone. "Are you serious? You slept with Chandler? Does he know?!"  
  
Monica raised her eyebrows. "Does he know I slept with him? If not, telling him about the baby was probably a big mistake."  
  
Rachel seemed oblivious of her sarcasm. "I can't believe this," she said. "You and Chandler? A _baby_? God, no wonder he told us he was swearing off sex and gave Joey the rest of his condoms! I just thought he wanted it to seem like he had a _choice _in being celibate."  
  
Monica gave her a look. "Watch it," she said. "That's my baby's father you're talking about." Unconsciously, her hand drifted up to her belly and rubbed it slowly.  
  
Rachel stared at her. "Ugh! This is just so weird!" she said. "How did it happen?"  
  
"Let me see if there's a preface in my new copy of 'What To Expect When You're Expecting' that'll tell you everything you need to know."  
  
"Monica," Rachel whined. "You know what I mean."  
  
Monica sighed, giving her a pointed look. "We were depressed… we got drunk. Okay? Not exactly the most romantic tale in the world."  
  
"Oh." Rachel looked thoughtful. "So are you guys… like… together now?"  
  
"No – no," Monica said emphatically. "It was just a one night thing. And please, _please _don't mention anything like that to Chandler. He's having a hard enough time as it is."  
  
"I can imagine – it's _Chandler_." Rachel shook her head. Suddenly she looked up at Monica and asked softly, "How are you dealing with this? How do you feel?"  
  
"Honest?" Monica smiled tightly. "Scared. Shocked. This isn't… wasn't… how it was all supposed to happen."  
  
"But, honey…" Rachel took Monica's arm and sat her down at the kitchen table, then sat down beside her and scooted her chair closer. "Just a few months ago you were considering having a baby…"  
  
"And I came to my senses," Monica interrupted, rubbing at her eyes tiredly. "Now it's just… everything's all muddled. I don't know how I'm supposed to feel. It doesn't even seem real yet. Something I've wanted since I was a little girl, you know, a baby… but it's like I can't even enjoy it, I'm too busy worrying about… everything."  
  
"Mon." Rachel sighed, putting her arms around her in an awkward hug. "You know I'm here for you. And Chandler… he'll come around. You know? He's weird sometimes, and irresponsible, but for heaven's sakes he's not _Joey. _There's still hope. And he loves you. You guys are gonna get through this because your friendship is so strong. And the rest of us will be behind you a hundred percent. Every step of the way."  
  
Tears flooded Monica's vision at her friend's kind words. She hugged back, leaning her head on Rachel's shoulder. "Thank you," she whispered. "And thank god you know. Now you can start helping me slip sedatives in Chandler's dinner. He's so much easier to deal with when he's calm."  
  
---  
  
Dr. Keener had yet to make an appearance, and Chandler was pacing holes in the floor. Monica tracked him from her uncomfortable seat on the exam table.  
  
"Chandler," she said.  
  
"What?"  
  
"If you don't stay still, I'm going to name our child after your father. Gender notwithstanding."  
  
He grimaced. "Sorry," he murmured, stopping beside the table and glancing at his watch for the thirty-eighth time in the past four minutes.  
  
She decided she had something that could possibly take his mind off the impending sonogram. "Rachel knows," she said off-handedly, studying her toenails and deciding they could use a fresh coat of polish.  
  
Chandler choked on his gum. He coughed, clutching at his throat. "What?" he rasped, when he could breathe again. "You _told _her?"  
  
"She caught me throwing up this morning," Monica said. "Besides, I couldn't keep this from her forever. She's my best friend… and, I think we need to start talking about telling everyone else soon, too. Sooner or later they're bound to notice I'm pregnant."  
  
Chandler cringed. "Ross, too?" he asked. "Couldn't you just say you're getting fat again?"  
  
Monica whipped her head around to glare at him. "Chandler, sweetie, I know you're my friend, father of my child, flesh of my flesh and all that… but if you ever, _ever_ use the F word around me again for the next eight months, I'll murder you in your sleep," she snapped.  
  
He stared at her. Finally, his expression cleared like a light bulb had just appeared over his head. "Ah," he said knowingly. "Mood swings. I'm supposed to be 'sympathetic and proactive' during the first trimester." He grinned proudly. "You're not the only one who has reading material now."

  
Monica didn't know whether to burst out laughing or hurt him for real. Luckily, she was saved when Dr. Keener chose that moment to enter.  
  
"Hello!" she said, smiling warmly at them both. "I'm Elizabeth Keener; you must be Monica and Chandler."  
  
"Hi," they both replied, taking turns shaking her hand.  
  
"It's very nice to meet you both. Now, let's get started, shall we?" And with that, the doctor launched into a long series of questions directed mostly at Monica, while Chandler sank into a chair against the wall and listened with a vague sense of unreality. They were talking about medical problems. His family didn't have any history of medical problems, did they? He realized he didn't even know.  
  
Which made him think that he should call his mom… but then he'd have to tell her about the baby. And he was not ready for people to know about the baby, even though Rachel now knew, which meant half of Manhattan would probably know by this evening. Including Ross.  
  
As Dr. Keener proceeded with the exam, taking Monica's blood pressure and then drawing a sample, Chandler distracted himself by envisioning various worst-case scenarios taking place in the delivery room in thirty-one short weeks. And even if, god willing, nothing earth shattering happened during the delivery…  
  
A baby. A _baby_. What the hell was he going to do with a baby? He didn't have the first clue about kids of any age. Maybe Ross would offer some moral support, after he beat the crap out of him.  
  
Chandler buried his face in his hands and sighed.  
  
"Chandler." Monica's voice floated down to him minutes – or possibly hours – later. He raised his head and squinted at her blearily.  
  
"She's going to listen to the heartbeat now," Monica said quietly. Her face was drawn and carefully blank as she appraised Chandler's gloomy expression. He obviously couldn't be less thrilled about this baby, and it had quickly killed any illusion she'd had about the two of them getting through this with their friendship intact.  
  
A young technician entered the room with an ultrasound machine and began hooking it up, while Chandler stood up and approached the bed like he was on his way to his own execution. Monica sighed and looked away, out the window.  
  
For a few brief minutes that morning, talking to Dr. Keener, she'd actually managed to work up some genuine excitement. A baby… she was going to have a baby.  
  
But now…  
  
Reality had crashed back in, more quickly than she had thought.  
  
The technician rubbed gel on her bare stomach, and Monica cringed. She'd had to pee for about an hour now, and that definitely wasn't making it better.  
  
"What's that?" Chandler asked curiously.  
  
"For the image to show up on the monitor, we have to move the ultrasound machine over the womb. This just makes it easier," the technician explained, smiling reassuringly.  
  
"Image? I thought it was just the heartbeat." Chandler was now gazing at the darkened monitor, a strange expression on his face.  
  
"You'll be able to hear that, too," the technician replied. She carefully wiped her hands and then reached for the ultrasound machine. "Are you ready?"  
  
"Yeah," Monica said softly, and after a moment Chandler nodded his assent. Monica turned to look at him, standing apart from her with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, but he was still staring at the monitor.  
  
A heavy silence fell over the room. If the technician noticed the lack of excitement or even communication on the part of the parents-to-be, she said nothing, merely going about her business as Monica held her breath.  
  
Finally, the monitor crackled to life, just as the sound of a very small heartbeat filled the quiet room.

To Be Continued.  
  
---

Author's Note: I know nothing of ultrasounds or pregnancy, really, so sorry if any of this is inaccurate. Thanks for the great reviews! You don't know how much I appreciate them.  



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